


A Shyness That is Criminally Vulgar

by dadsBBQparty



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Eating Disorders, Jealousy, M/M, Rehabilitation, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 04:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15135611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadsBBQparty/pseuds/dadsBBQparty
Summary: “Been a while,” Ethan said softly. His words were slurring ever so slightly. It must not have been his first drink that was in his hand. Norman sat down beside him as the architect slid the bartender the cash for the drink. “I thought I'd never hear from you again.”





	A Shyness That is Criminally Vulgar

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags if you haven't. Don't read this if any of it makes you uncomfortable.

The rain had finally subsided. It felt like it would never end. As Norman looked out the window of his fifth story apartment, he grimaced. It was nine thirty by the time it finally finished. He set down ARI, pressing his palm to his forehead as he attempted to ground himself back to reality. 

An obligation to leave the confines of indoors. There was a bar down the block he had been wanting to go to. He needed a break from the new case that was slammed on him- and he especially needed to forget the extended time he had been spending with Blake. Just about everything that could be said that could lower his self esteem was said. It was just like talking to his extended family. 

Their relationship was worse and worse. The cop had despised Norman for existing on the same planet as he did, and now Norman was the one who was having to escape the press for successfully finding the Origami Killer. The entire precinct knew that if it had been up to Blake, the suspect would still be walking and an innocent man would be dead. That didn't mean they weren't going to make it easy for Norman, oh heavens no. Instead, his workload increased day by day. Fuck Philadelphia for being a city so in need of the FBI. They requested he stay and wrap up many of the unfinished cases. And that was how he ended up moving to this miserable town. He fit right in. 

Drown his sorrows. Forget about ARI. Forget about Blake. Forget about the press who was surely going to be at the front door of the hotel. He zipped up his jacket and pulled his hood up, deciding against the scarf. That would be too suspicious. 

He slipped out the back exit of the apartment building into the parking lot. Trying to keep his distance from the press, he hopped the fence, barely landing on his feet. His coordination could make a toddler laugh. As he turned the corner, he sighed at his predictions. The press never changed. They were lingering over a case he solved a week before. Another doozy- it wasn't one he wanted to think about as he was on a journey to forget his issued. Maybe it was time he moved apartments without telling anyone- or just get a second one. 

He rushed down the block until he was out of sight from the pesky media. The walk was quick. It was worrying how close the bar was; the media would catch on quick. Ugh, but he wasn't in the mood for a drive. He slipped through the door, heading straight to the bar. 

“Vodka, neat,” he ordered, sliding the bartender his ID. The bartender nodded and turned to find the bottle when another voice butted itself in. 

“This one's on me.” 

Norman froze. He could recognize that voice from anywhere. Slowly, he turned his head, glancing at someone he had wished to forget. 

“Ethan Mars?” he muttered as the man closed their distance by taking the seat beside him. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“Been a while,” Ethan said softly. His words were slurring ever so slightly. It must not have been his first drink that was in his hand. Norman sat down beside him as the architect slid the bartender the cash for the drink. “I thought I'd never hear from you again.” He was wearing a short sleeved button up shirt, making Norman feel self conscious for his choice of a jacket in April. 

“The case is closed…” Norman sighed. “I'm sorry, but it’s not really my business to…” 

“I know,” Ethan muttered, taking a sip from his drink. Norman pulled his hood down and mimicked his action, accidentally taking too much at once. 

This sucked. 

“How have things been… handling?” Norman asked him quietly. Terrible question. There was no way things were good. 

Ethan looked over at him, furrowing his brow. Six months. Six month since the case had finished, and this was the first time they talked since the press conferences. The two of them had gotten on fine. Perfectly, actually. They had multiple things in common. It ranged from their discussions of Star Trek to their ideas on fiscal policy. It was going perfect, until Norman stopped answering his texts. 

“... Eh,” he whispered. “There's a few things that are better than they were before. A few things are worse. Jayden, why are you still here? You told me you were going back to DC.” 

Norman looked away sheepishly. Ethan had told him to tell him if he ever came back. It wasn't lying if he never left, right? 

“I got relocated here,” he answered. “Been working with the Philadelphia police.” 

“How is that going?” 

“As you'd expect with who I have to work with.” 

“Make any friends?” 

“No.” 

Ethan looked at him, frowning. “Did I do something to piss you off?” 

“No,” Norman whispered, shaking his head. He had risked far too much taking care of Ethan in the past. He put his job on the line to break him out of jail. And- were his skills even necessary? He showed up at the warehouse, yeah, but so did even Madison fuckin’ Paige. She was with him everywhere. It drove Norman nuts. He could never fit a word in without assuming that it was going to end up in some fuckin’ tabloid the next day. 

They were alone now, yeah, but… 

“You never told anyone, right?” he whispered. Norman was an untrusting man. He could never step back and just put his hope in Ethan no matter how much he wanted to. He was living in constant fear that his secret would be spilled. It would cost him his entire career. His career was all he had. 

“No,” Ethan answered calmly. That didn't relieve much anxiety, but at least he had his word. 

Norman rubbed his eye before leaning his chin on his hands. He couldn't look at Ethan- he never could. It hurt too much to see the pain behind those blue eyes. He was repulsed by his own actions. A father in need asking for him to keep in contact, and that was too fuckin’ hard. Everything was too fuckin’ hard. It wasn't Ethan- it was never Ethan. It was his own fault. 

No father in their right mind would want him, Norman Jayden, around their child. It was for Shaun’s sake, he selfishly told himself. 

He was constantly irritable and never able to just sit down and have a conversation unless there was some substance in his hand. He was fidgety, shaky, nervous, and he had little to no tolerance for any noise. Even this bar was bad. The chattering, the random flashing from a phone. 

He was getting worse and worse. 

His head was pounding, making him curse as he took another sip from his drink. He knew what was coming up. It was more and more frequent. This is why he couldn't leave his fuckin’ apartment.

“I'll be right back,” he answered as his voice shook. Before the hallucinations. He couldn't handle those- not now. He brushed past Ethan on his way to the bathroom, trying his hardest not to trip on anything before he pushed the door open. 

Water couldn't do anything for him anymore. He was in too deep- it was the triptocaine or the awful hallucinations. After the case of the Origami Killer, he tried his best to detox. It was, obviously, all for naught. The temptation to use ARI was too strong. It physically hurt to avoid contact with the device. At least he was alone, but alone was all he understood now. 

He hated himself for this, he thought as he pulled out the familiar translucent blue tube. He wished he could walk away from it, he thought as he pressed it to his nose. He's no better than the criminals he tries to stop, he reminded himself as he snorted. 

Relief. 

The blissful fleeting ten seconds of relief. 

He closed his eyes as he slipped the tube back in his pocket. Cautiously, he pressed his weight against the sink, taking a deep breath. 

The longest he had ever gone without the drug was a mere week. It had been the hardest week of his life- glued next to his toilet and vomiting out everything and anything that had ever even so much as been near him. He couldn't do it and keep his job. He knew he wasn't the only agent who was life threateningly suffered from the drug. It was a ‘trial run’. How stupid was he to agree? How stupid was he to continue?

He was the only agent left who had been handed ARI. He knew what would happen if he told them he couldn't take it anymore. 

“I don't want to lose my job,” he mouthed to himself as he picked himself up. 

He couldn't do this to Ethan. If he found out about this, there was no way he'd agree to keep silent and watch it happen. He never thought he'd despise someone for being too kind and thoughtful. Norman wished he could throw away the past eight months and start over. Refuse tripto-... Or just never join the FBI. 

He accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, feeling sickened by the sight. He looked awful. His dark circles hid his eyes, which was probably for the best with how bloodshot they were. His skin was so pale it was almost purple, and his cheeks were stained with tear marks. 

And blood. 

He reached for a paper towel, wetting it quickly before wiping the blood that had dried on his cheeks and under his nose. 

Was this how he looked everyday? 

He threw the paper towel in the trash, walking out of the glaring LED lit room and into the dark, warm bar. Reluctantly, he took his seat beside Ethan. The shorter man was running over the rim of the glass, and the profiler decided to silently watch him. 

Ethan was in bad shape too. He was never going to magically regrow part of his pinky that he was missing. The wound had finally closed, but Norman was sure Ethan would never fully heal from the trauma that came with it. There were scars that led up his arms that would probably never completely disappear. It must have been hard for him to start wearing short sleeves again, Norman caught himself thinking. 

There was a reason he was at the bar too. 

“Aren't you warm?” Ethan asked him softly. 

No. Norman was freezing. Another fuckin’ side effect. That was all his life was now. 

“No, no… I'm okay.” It was the biggest lie he had said in a while. 

He finished his drink, and before he knew it, there was another one in front of him. 

“I'm sorry I've been so awful with contacting you,” Norman whispered to him. He wasn't sure if he meant it. 

“It's okay,” Ethan told him. It wasn't. It couldn't be okay. “Shaun was wondering how you're doing. I never had your number. Can I-” 

Norman would regret this deeply. “Yeah,” he said. Ethan handed him his phone and the shaky agent strained his eyes, handing off his contact information. He could barely look at the screen. “Call me, don't text me.” It hurt too much to read texts. “I'm more likely to answer.”

“Thanks,” Ethan replied softly, looking over the phone number that was now in his contact list. “Shaun’s… been adjusting. He's taken on baking. We made cupcakes a few days ago. Do you want to see?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Norman said softly which gave Ethan the cue to pull the photo up on his phone. The glaring light made his head pound. He glanced away, whispering, “Turn down the brightness, please.” 

“It's as low as it goes,” Ethan answered him, sounding uncertain. 

Norman bit his lip, turning back to take the phone. It was blurry in Ethan’s hand, all he could see were shapes. He reached out to take his phone, bringing it closer to his face despite the pain he felt. It was a cute picture. It was Shaun in the kitchen with blue cupcakes he was proudly holding. He handed the phone back to Ethan as he whispered, “It's cute.” 

He missed Shaun. The boy was always so ecstatic to see him. He missed the feeling of being wanted. He missed hearing about Shaun’s day. He couldn't be around him, though. What would happen if he saw what Norman was going through? 

He wasn't welcome anyways, he reminded himself. 

“Thanks,” Ethan muttered, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “He-He would really like to see you again.” 

A nod. That was all he could give. He couldn't see him, and he wished the lonely father would just know that. 

‘Ethan Mars, you really do not want your kid around me.’ 

“What about Madison?” Norman asked curtly. It slipped out before he could filter it, and he could tell by Ethan’s face that it wasn't a topic he wanted to get into. 

“She's been busy.” 

Too busy for what? To see Shaun? 

“Isn't she your girlfriend?” he pried. This wasn't the right conversation to go down. Ethan stood up,frowning at Norman. 

“I'm gonna leave before either of us say anything we regret,” he said calmly before he began to walk away. Just leaving him there… As soon as he couldn't see him, Norman’s head slammed into the desk. 

He was supposed to be good at preventing things like that to escalate. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

\------- 

Ten at night. Norman was laying on his floor- he barely had the strength to get on his bed. Detox attempt… whatever. He couldn't remember. His life was a loop of work, drugs, detox, work, drugs. 

He was sent home from the department that day. Thrown off a case for throwing Blake against a desk. If anyone liked Blake, it would have probably gotten him fired instead of an indefinite suspension. 

He needed to find his cool. Nothing he did could calm him down. It was just the same argument he always had with Blake. Nothing he was doing was right. Nothing was fine. The normal things. Until Blake pointed out how he revolted he was to look at him. That made two of them, but something about Blake telling him that caused a rage he never knew he had to come loose. Blake wasn't harmed, but he wasn't going to drop it. 

It wasn't the first time they physically fought. They'd both had to come into work with a shiner. It was the first time it happened in the precinct where everyone could see them. Sure, Norman had taken a few hits from Blake in front of other cops. No one cared about the FBI agent who was taking their cases, though. 

Another thing he noticed was that he bruised easily now. Just Blake shoving him on the chest had caused a bruise to show up on his near translucent skin. 

His phone was buzzing by his ear. Groaning, he grabbed it, making sure the sound was down before he answered it. 

“This is Norman Jayden.” 

“Hi, it’s Ethan Mars.” 

Norman’s mind raced. He hadn't heard from Ethan since the bar three weeks ago. What did he want? Was everything okay? 

“Is Shaun okay?” he asked quickly, trying to force himself to sit up. 

Ethan laughed into the phone, and Norman had to bring the phone away from his ear. It was too loud to tolerate with his excruciating headache. “He’s fine… He's with his mom tonight. Thank you for thinking of him, though.” 

“What’s wrong then?” Norman asked, laying back on the ground as if it was missing him. 

“Can you come over?” Ethan asked him. He made it sound like it was simple. 

No, he couldn't. He wasn't sure if he could even find the strength to get into his bed. 

“Sorry…” 

“Why not?” 

“... My car’s in the shop, and I'd rather not take a taxi right now,” Norman lied through his teeth. 

“I can come over. Where do you live?” 

And like an idiot, he gave him his address. 

Ethan hung up the phone, and Norman cursed himself quietly. He'd never ever had anyone over at his apartment. He was almost wishing that the call was just an excuse for Ethan to tell someone where to go to just shoot him in the head. 

The apartment was close to empty. A one bedroom apartment with a small living room that only had a TV, coffee table and a couch. The kitchen was basically foodless- he couldn't bring himself to each much. His bedroom was the only part that looked lived in with his clothes thrown around the room and his bed constantly unkempt. He hadn't found the strength to make his bed in weeks. 

Norman wasn't sure if he fell asleep or blacked out as he came to with knocking on the door. He grabbed the coffee table beside him, using it to pull himself up to sitting position. 

“It's open,” he called out, wincing at the loudness of his own voice. 

Ethan stepped in, his brow furrowed. It was completely dark in the apartment except for the light that came in from the bathroom down the hall. He flipped the living room light on and Norman brought his hands up to his eyes to cover them. 

“Holy shit,” Ethan said quietly as he closed the door after him. “You look awful.” 

“Thanks,” Norman whispered, keeping one of his eyes shut as he looked at the blur that was Ethan Mars. “I feel awful too.” 

He looked down at himself and sighed before buttoning his shirt up again. It was amazing how little he could take care of himself. 

“What happened?” Ethan asked, sitting beside him on the floor. Why did Ethan even care after the way he treated him at the bar? 

“I got into a fight with Blake,” he told him quietly, hoping that would explain the situation. “You should see him,” he forced out the joke. 

“Are you sick?” Ethan said, pressing the back of his hand to Norman’s forehead. He wasn't his kid. It was frustrating that he was trying to treat him as one. 

Norman knew he was clammy. Cold sweat, constantly. He pulled Ethan’s hand off of him and shrugged, trying to avoid the conversation. He pressed his hand on Ethan’s chest to stabilize himself, glossy eyes looking up at him. “Why are you here?” he asked, furrowing his brow. 

“I knew something was up with your behavior,” Ethan admitted to him. “You… were bizarre at the bar. What happened to the… you that was with me at the press conferences? The one who comforted my anxiety…” 

“Gone,” Norman said, unable to keep his balance. Ethan supported him as his head came crashing on him, keeping him in balance. 

“I realized how… bad you were doing…” Ethan sighed. “You weren't there for me, because you couldn't even be there for yourself.” Whatever the fuck that meant. 

Norman remained silent as Ethan picked him up, holding his shoulders in place. He wasn't comfortable with how close he was- he didn't want Ethan to see the shape he was in. 

“Don't look at me,” he begged him. Ethan sighed, refusing to obey what he said. He pushed the bangs out of Norman’s face, holding them back. There was nothing to hide him. He felt his eyes burning up. 

His breathing started to speed up, and he wanted to bolt. Behind Ethan, fragments of his anxiety spawning to torment of him. The hallucinations were hitting hard. He recognized the figure behind Ethan- it was himself. Approaching him. 

“Ethan, please- please…” he begged, forcing his eyes shut.

“Please what?” 

“Let me go…” he pleaded. 

The figure was closing in on Ethan. He could see his own hands closing around the man’s throat, and Norman himself felt as if he couldn't breathe. 

He jerked himself away from Ethan, pulling himself back. He knew the figure couldn't hurt him. It was just an illusion. Fake. 

He didn't want to hurt him. He didn't want Ethan to be in pain again. He went through too much. He couldn't suffer because of Norman. He closed his eyes, falling back against the floor and groaning. Ethan was on top of him. He could feel the weight of him shifting on either side of his body. When he opened his eyes, it was Ethan looking down at him. 

“Jayden…” he whispered, cupping his cheek gently. “Talk to me.” 

“I… can't,” Norman said. He couldn't tell him. It was obvious. Ethan must have known everything- he wasn't stupid. It made it all the harder to keep his mouth shut about the context. 

The older man sighed, leaning closer to him. “I care about you, Jayden,” he reminded him. His hands were on his chest, looking over the bruises on his chest. For a brief, blissful second, his anxieties melted away. All that mattered was the warmth from Ethan’s hands. 

Only for his anxiety to come back twice as hard. 

He jerked his head away, looking at him wide eyed. His mind was spinning in circles. This could cost him his career. 

A wave of nausea hit him. It wasn't because of Ethan- nothing about him disgusted him. It was himself. He couldn’t prevent it. 

He brought a hand to his mouth, trying to force back the vomit that dared come out. Ethan acted fast- being a father to small children must mean that this wasn't the first time he's had to deal with this. He grabbed the garbage can faster than Norman could register it, and soon the profiler was spilling everything inside of him into the garbage. 

Ethan stood up from the floor, and Norman could hear him walking to the kitchen. This poor man. Why would he do this to himself? 

He returned as Norman finally thought he could be free from holding onto the trash can. Ethan had a warm, wet washcloth he was using to wipe his face off as Norman stayed still, trying to stay conscious. The older man handed him a glass of water, but Norman couldn't take it. 

“I don't want to move,” he replied softly. 

Ethan pressed the glass against his lips gently, helping Norman drink. He could feel the warmth of the other man’s hand on his cheek. 

“Why are you doing this?” Norman asked as Ethan pulled the glass away. He was feeling pathetic. 

“You were there to save me when I needed you most,” Ethan answered. It felt like a lie. Even when he disappeared for months? 

“No… you had Madison. You found your son…” Norman fought as Ethan wiped the sweat off his face. 

“Why do you keep bringing her up?” Ethan asked, irritation in his voice. He exhaled deeply. “Scott Shelby would have killed me. You protected me, and you protected Shaun. You risked your life…” 

“It was my job,” Norman hissed. Anything to keep Ethan away. He was too close. 

“It was deeper than that, and you know it.” 

“Fuck you, Ethan…” 

The next thing Norman remembered, he was laying in his bed. The curtains were open, and the morning sun was pooling in his room. He groaned, pulling the pillows over his head. 

His bed smelled clean. He couldn't remember changing the sheets. He wasn't sure the last time he did that… 

He also couldn't remember the last time he had the blinds open. 

He pulled the pillows off his head, narrowing his eyes as he tried to look around the room. It hadn't been this clean since he moved in. His clothes were put in their proper places and the floor was swept. 

His clock was working again too. 

Three PM. 

He slept until three PM. 

He forced himself out of his bed, grabbing a throw blanket at the end of the bed and pulling it over his shoulders. He was so cold. 

The living room was cleaned too. Not that he had that much in it. 

There was a note on the coffee table. He leaned down to pick it up, sighing at the messy handwriting. His eyes could barely focus. Nothing could be easy. 

“Sorry, I had to leave. It’s 2:27 as I’m writing this. I have to pick up Shaun from school at 3:30. I bought you groceries. Have some of the soup or a granola bar. The soup is in the fridge. Just heat it up. I helped clean your stuff so you’d start feeling better. Your clothes were disgusting, so I helped you change before I brought you to bed. Sorry about the invasion of privacy if that upsets you. 

Call me when you’re able. 

Ethan Mars’ 

Norman groaned, turning back to his room. He didn't have to work. What was there to do? He shouldn't use ARI. The television killed him. He couldn't focus on a book. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. 

He closed the blinds, sighing with relief at the darkness. He looked down at the desk, and his heart sped up. 

A tube of triptocaine was sitting on the desk. On top of it was a post-it note that said in Ethan’s awful handwriting, ‘I know.’ 

How fucking dare he. 

\------

Three days later, and he received a phone call. 

Sitting on his couch, Norman frowned at the number. 

“What the fuck do you want, Ethan?” he scolded through the tinny quality. 

“I'm on my way over,” the older man informed him. “I'm in the car. I'll be there in five minutes. We're going to get food, you're going to eat, and I won't take no for an answer.” 

“I won't let you in,” Norman dared. 

“See you in five minutes.” 

Ethan didn't even knock before letting himself in. The profiler didn't bother to look at him as he approached him until he felt the weight on the other side of the couch. 

“... Ethan,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. The man beside him seemed defeated. His eyes were sunken and half lidded, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a week. He hated how good he looked when he let himself go. “Why the fuck did you go through my stuff?” 

Ethan narrowed his eyes. He obviously knew he was in the wrong, but he wasn't backing down. “Would you rather I find it and not tell you?” 

“I would rather you don't dig through my stuff!” Norman yelled, wincing. 

“I didn't mean to,” Ethan argued, trying to keep his voice down. “I was picking up your stuff, and I accidentally found it. Jayden, I realize it might have been insensi-”

“Are you really going to say insensitive?” Norman laughed, his eyes widening. “It was more insensitive! It was cruel. Who do you think I am? Your personal fixerupper while you try to fuckin’ fix yourself, Ethan Mars! Fuck off!” 

The man beside him didn't budge. Instead, he sat still. 

“I'm sorry,” he said softly to Norman. 

Ethan must have been used to these sort of outlashes. That must be a skill from being a father. Norman shook his head slightly. 

“You can't just apologize and expect it to be over,” he muttered. It was fucked up no matter how he looked at it. The passive aggressive sticky-note. Ethan knew he never wanted to tell him, and it came with good reason. He could have picked a better way to tell him, at least. 

“You- You really didn't think I realized what was going on?” Ethan asked. He laughed softly, and that was when Norman realized how upset he was. “Jayden, I’m sorry, but it was obvious you were using something. I don't know what that is, and I'm afraid to ask- but I could tell. It's obvious. How many days has it been since you stopped using it?” 

“Six,” Norman answered, looking away from him. 

Ethan nodded, licking his lips slightly due to his anxiety. 

“What are you gonna do?” 

“Wait for someone to walk through that door and shoot me in the head.” 

“Assuming you don't get killed.”

“Suffer.” 

Ethan exhaled deeply. This was obviously not his strong point. Shaun was only eleven. “I-I know this is bad to ask, but… have you considered rehab?” 

“If I go to rehab, I'll lose my job,” Norman answered angrily. 

“Would that be that bad?” Ethan asked him. “You _hate_ your job. You don't want to start over?” 

Norman had never been so offended. He inhaled deeply, scooting to the otherside of the couch. 

“I’m not losing my job.” 

“Fine,” Ethan said, throwing his arms up to let Norman know he had given up with the conversation. “Back to the immediate. How do you feel?” 

“Awful,” Norman replied. 

“Nauseous?” Ethan asked. 

“Haven't puked in… almost a day,” the profiler whispered. 

“So do you think you could handle food?” 

Norman looked over at him, swallowing hard. He slowly nodded his head. “I could tolerate it.” 

“What do you want?” Ethan asked. 

“Breakfast,” Norman answered. Simple enough. 

“Are you still wearing the clothes I dressed you in?” the older man asked, running a hand down his back to feel the fabric. Norman shivered so hard it was painful. “Do you need help changing?” 

“No, just…” the profiler sighed and stood up, pulling a blanket with him. “I'll be right back.” 

Soon, he was being pulled into the car despite his previous arguments against it. He felt hideous. Instead of his normal, uptight outfits, he was only wearing a sweatshirt with jeans. He had his eyes closed as Ethan drove- he was an awful backseat driver. The last thing they both needed was him complaining about a headache from the sun while telling him not to merge. 

As Ethan walked with him to the diner, Norman felt a dread flow over his body. 

Oh, how he hoped there was going to be no one who recognized him. 

“It's okay,” Ethan whispered to him as they walked inside. 

He could feel as Ethan held onto his hand. He ignored it, being too preoccupied with glancing around the sea of faces. Anyone could be there. Hell, even Blake could be there. Someone he interrogated who he just rubbed wrong. 

He didn't want them to see him in this weakened state. 

“What's on your mind?” Ethan asked as they found their seat. 

“Nothing,” Norman lied, looking behind Ethan. They were seated right by the bathrooms, which came as a relief to him. Ethan must have requested it, but he wasn't sure. The interactions with the server had already left his mind, just a blur of the past. 

“Sure,” Ethan said. “... You haven't gone to work the past few days… Why?” 

Norman looked at him. The question exhausted him to no end. “Blake,” he answered him. “He's…” 

“I know how he is,” Ethan answered, his face falling. “He's a man I can go the rest of my life without talking to.” 

“I pushed him,” Norman whispered, imitating the gesture against the table. “Perry saw.” 

“How hard?” Ethan asked. 

“Not hard. I'm just on their shit-list,” Norman said. 

Ethan’s face showed he wasn't happy. Ah, how he hated that look. “Your job has ruined your life.” 

“Whose hasn't?” 

A single waffle. That was the only thing Norman ordered. No syrup. No whip cream. It contrasted to Ethan’s plate. Scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon. Norman wished he could go back to eating like that. 

The father started reaching over to the condiments and Norman interrupted him. 

“You seem like the kind of guy to drown your food in ketchup,” he said. It took Ethan a few moments to realize it was only a joke. He grinned with uncertainty as he grabbed the ketchup bottle. 

“You need protein,” Ethan said, taking a piece of bacon with his fork and holding it out to Norman. 

“I don't think I can handle that,” Norman admitted to him, trying to gesture it away. 

“Why not?” the other man asked, cocking a brow. 

“The grease…” he said. Ethan set the bacon down on his plate, and he pushed the plate closer to Norman’s. 

“Take eggs before I ruin them for you.” 

Norman filled his fork with bits of the scrambled egg, bringing it to his mouth. He closed his eyes as he swallowed, his nose scrunching up as he did so. Ethan took his plate back once Norman was done, drizzling the red condiment all over his plate. 

“You’re so gross,” Norman said, laughing slightly at him. 

“What's wrong?” Ethan replied, flashing a smile at him. “Why don't you like ketchup?” 

“The smell,” he told him. “I can't stand it.” He waved his hand around nervously as if he was trying to push away the scent. 

“You’re very sensitive to smells,” Ethan commented. “Have you always been that way?” Norman shrugged his shoulders, looking down at his waffle as he cut the segmented parts. “You’re like Shaun in that way.” 

“... Don't compare your son to me, for his sake.” 

The tension filled the atmosphere again. Ethan’s blue eyes, tired and stressed, looked down at his food. He took a bite of his food before he set down his fork. 

“Norman,” he said. His tone was cold and demanding. The use of his first name made the profiler tense up, as if he wasn't already. “Listen to me and understand when I say this. I genuinely care about you. No one else had the determination to save my son-” 

“Madison.” 

“Why do you keep bringing her up?” Ethan asked, planting his face in his hands. “That door is closed. Do you know why she was helping? So she could write a fucking book about it. She honestly- she could have cared less. She wasn't there after she got what she wanted. Why are you so driven on driving a wall between us with her?” 

The profiler took a deep breath, looking down at his waffle. He wasn't hungry anymore. 

He could remember the press conferences. She was there. When Norman was with Ethan, she was always there. Listening, watching, trying to understand their dynamic. All for her book? It was obviously deeper than that. He couldn't trust how much she knew. He couldn't trust her. 

The last time he saw Ethan before tried to push him out of his life. He could remember everything. 

The happiness he felt. Shaun Mars was safe. He could remember the smell of Ethan’s cologne as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. The feeling of his freshly shaven skin as his finger accidentally brushed his neck. The feeling that he could just say anything to Ethan Mars. He could tell him everything. 

Until she came in. 

He still remembered his heart sinking. He couldn't say anything to Ethan when she was here. He remembered how she took his hand and the way he held it. So tenderly. The way he looked at her. It was as if everything in the world was moving forward because of her. The way her hand fit into his. 

He remembered his mouth closing as it went dry. His spirit falling as he realized he couldn't talk to Ethan- he couldn't trust it would stay away from her. He remembered the exact moment his hopes crumbled right before his eyes. The future he had imagined with Ethan Mars- ripped away. 

“... Doesn't matter,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. 

“Norman Jayden, I am not talking about her right now. I am talking about you. I care about you. I want you to be happy.” 

Bullshit. 

It was bullshit, and he knew it. 

“I have to leave,” Norman whispered, his head spinning. “I have to leave _now_.” 

“You don't have to leave,” Ethan said, reaching out to grab Norman’s hand. The profiler shoved it away, standing up. The bathrooms. 

He stumbled past him and pushed the door back, hearing it swing as he entered the last stall, locking it behind him. He dropped to his knees, closing his eyes so he couldn't fixate on the state of the bathroom. He knew what was coming, and he was never prepared for it. He never felt better, he always felt worse. 

There was nowhere else to go when he finished. Ethan was the first person he saw as he left the bathroom, patiently waiting on him. That's all he did- wait on him and take his bullshit. Why was he still here? Norman sighed, taking the seat across from him again. He couldn't look at him. He didn't want to see his disappointed face. 

“Have water,” Ethan whispered. Without arguing for once, Norman did as he was told. “How long until you're back with the police?” 

“I don't know,” Norman answered. He looked at Ethan, his breath stopping at his face. The older man was smiling. He was smiling, and he was so beautiful Norman felt scared. He felt small again- small against this growing feeling of attachment he felt to the man it was his job to protect. The smile was masking the concern he felt. How Norman wished he could be the one to wipe his face of that sadness. 

It hit him. It hit him like a fucking truck. 

Tears spilled down his eyes. He couldn't stop them- he couldn't remember the last time he cried. It was everything rushing out of him. Disgusting, snotty tears. Ethan had passed a napkin to him, and he was desperately blotting his fluids off his face. 

He was madly in love with Ethan. He wasn't scared of Madison pulling apart his privacy. He was scared she would take the man he loved- the man he wanted to belong to. 

“I need help,” he sobbed. “Ethan Mars, I need help.” 

“You do,” Ethan whispered, taking one of his hands and squeezing it. “You need to value yourself more than you value your job. I'll be here every step of the way if you need me.”

Norman dropped the napkin, taking Ethan’s hand with both of his own. Hesitantly, he brought it to his face until he could feel the architect's fingertips on his cheeks. They must have been prickly and uncomfortable for him, but Norman needed the physical connection more than anything else. He closed his eyes, leaning closer to the table as Ethan stroked his cheek. 

They didn't linger much longer at the diner. Packing their food into boxes, they left to bring Norman back to his apartment. Ethan knew how hard it must have been for him to be out in his state. 

He stayed in the apartment while Norman showered, making sure he was safe. The warm water helped his aches, and for once, he felt physically clean of the disgusting things that littered his body. Ethan had set clean clothes on his sink- striped boxers and a baggy t-shirt that Norman had bought in the early 90s- the Replacements’ album cover for ‘Let It Be’. 

He brushed his teeth and combed his hair with the strength he had left. Looking at the mirror was unpleasant. While he felt better by cleaning himself, the damage to his face was obvious. He looked like he had barely survived a tornado. Yet Ethan stayed. 

The other man had been seated on his couch, flipping through the channels on his television when Norman walked back in. He smiled at the younger man before patting the cushion beside him, which Norman took. He relaxed as Ethan wrapped his arm around him, drawing him closer to his chest. He rested his head on it quietly, closing his eyes. 

“This is rich, comin’ from me… but can you spend the night with me tonight?” Norman whispered to him. 

“Shaun’s with his mom until tomorrow night. I can be here with you until then,” Ethan said, running his hand up and down Norman’s side. 

Norman picked his head up, glancing up at the other man. His hand stopped moving as he focused back on him. 

“You smell nice,” the architect whispered before Norman took the biggest chance of his life. He kissed Ethan Mars, and he could feel his body being squeezed as if to say he wanted him closer. Ethan pulled Norman over his body until their bodies were pressed together. The warmth spread through his body, and as long as Ethan held him, he knew he wasn't going to be cold. 

He learned everything about Ethan’s body. He saw every scar, every mark, every special unique thing about him. Norman saw the freckles that lined up on his right shoulder. He saw the marks from the surgery he underwent on his knee when he was ten from a bad snowboarding accident. Ethan learned the same for him. He noticed the scar from when his appendix was removed when he was seventeen. He would surely remember the birthmark he had on the inside of his left leg. 

Ethan Mars cupped his cheeks as they sat in bed. He could feel his breath hit his face. The small sounds he made sounded like music- so perfect and unique. His trembling hands never wanted to let go of him. He wanted to remember this exact moment for the rest of his life. 

Ethan Mars still looked impeccable in his underwear. His skin was flushed after the time they spent together, glistening slightly with the sweat that had formed. He could still smell his cologne. Spicy, enticing, and calming. 

Ethan kissed him again, his hands on his shoulders. Norman returned the kiss with his swollen lips, grinning as he pulled away. 

“... Will you wait for me?” he asked him quietly. 

“I'll wait as long as you need me,” Ethan replied, running his hand through the man’s hair, watching as it stuck to his forehead. 

\-----

It was hard not to look back as Norman stepped out the door. It was time to say goodbye to this chapter of his life. Time to stop running from his troubles. 

Time to leave ARI in the past. It was well overdue. 

The sick feeling grew in his stomach as he looked at his badge and gun. 

He saved countless lives. As much as he hated thinking it, he needed to put the time into fixing himself. Save himself before he ended up six feet under. 

“You're welcome to come back to the FBI. We don't want to see you go.” 

“Thank you, sir. … Hopefully, that won't be necessary,” he responded as he walked out the door. 

As he closed one chapter of his life, it was time to start the next one. Outside, hiding from the rain beneath an awning to a foreclosed record store, he made a phone call. His hands shook as he held the phone against his ear, nervous about what he would hear. 

The other line picked up, and he closed his eyes as he found the courage to speak. 

“Mom? … I'm coming home to Boston. I'm sorry it's short notice, but I’ll be there tonight.” 

\---- 

Six months passed. His mother loved having him home, even if she wasn't loving the context that brought him there. She helped him find support groups, giving him much needed shelter and love he was searching for. 

It was weeks of therapy, groups, arguments, relapses, therapy again, meetings, and awkward dinners. The nausea faded. The anxiety was becoming manageable. He could even hold a conversation without walking out of the room now. 

He was being phased out of therapy, and he couldn't wait to return to Philadelphia. As much as he loved his mom, there was someone else waiting for him. He needed to use his courage to return to him. 

The first chance he could, he left. The snow filled the city, but as much as he hated the snow, it couldn't deter him from his destination. As the door in front of him opened, the warm light lit the fire on his cheeks. 

“Norman.” 

“Ethan.” 

The grin on his lips couldn't be hidden any longer. It spread across his face so wide his cheeks hurt. The older man inhaled deeply before reaching out to pull Norman into his arms with strength the ex-profiler couldn't remember. He returned the gesture, burying his face in his wool sweater. 

“I'm back,” he sobbed as Ethan held him. 

“You're back,” Ethan reassured him, swinging him slightly in his arms. “You have no idea how much I missed you…”

Norman sniffled into his sweater before pulling away to press a sloppy, wet kiss onto Ethan’s mouth. Ethan pulled away quickly, stepping back slightly so Norman could see behind him. 

“Agent Jayden?” a boy’s voice asked, stepping closer to the door. Norman looked down at him, and he didn't think his smile could grow anymore until that moment. 

“Shaun,” he said, bending down as the younger boy ran towards the door. He wrapped his arms around him tight, glancing up at Ethan momentarily before closing his eyes and taking in the moment. 

It might have been hard to let go of the past, but it was time to focus on the future. Right now, it was looking brighter than ever. Maybe it wasn't a happily ever after, but it was something.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended really quick, but there was no proper way to end it. This story ended up consuming me for a while.


End file.
